


Erlkönig

by UlsPi



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, Autistic Aziraphale (Good Omens), Autistic Crowley (Good Omens), Deaf Character, Explicit Language, Getting Together, M/M, Sign Language
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-07
Packaged: 2021-03-04 06:00:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,555
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24508795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UlsPi/pseuds/UlsPi
Summary: After Aziraphale is left in a forest as a part of some silly initiation ritual, he meets a forester who saves his life and flirts with him like there is no tomorrow.
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 113
Kudos: 208





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [natalunasans](https://archiveofourown.org/users/natalunasans/gifts), [Sani86](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sani86/gifts).



It must have been some silly and cruel tradition Gabriel had learned back in the States, to just dump the youngest student somewhere far off and laugh over beer about how that youngest student would find their way back. 

Aziraphale agreed to it to oblige his new friends. He was far too smart and educated to make friends among his peers, so he appreciated the friendships he managed to establish with those who were older and more experienced, those who saw him as an equal, or so he thought before they tied a bandana over his eyes and dropped him off somewhere. He tried to think they didn't mean any harm, that it was just another silly tradition. At least this one didn't come from people who Aziraphale _knew_ to despise him. This one came from people who assured Aziraphale that they were his friends, that they just wanted to see how much of a man he was and didn't doubt him. 

But Aziraphale did doubt himself. Coming out to his aggressively religious family was out of the question, but maybe his new friends would be able to accept him as he was, if only because he could literally speak Latin… Aziraphale was hopeful, had always been, and so he wandered around, knowing nothing about where he went, thinking of all those books he read about living in peace with Nature and realising more and more with each step that he didn't speak the language of Nature, that he had lost it along with his freedom to be himself the moment he was born. 

It wasn't a pleasant thought, wasn't a right thought. He had managed to escape, to get a scholarship, to run away from everything that made him feel unnecessary and sinful into an environment he could allow himself to let go, just a bit.

The setting sun made the forest even more otherworldly than Aziraphale could have imagined. His parents liked nature as long as it could fit their version of the absolute deity, but the moment nature proved to be approving of anything queer, anything strange, as they would call it, they would denounce it as demonic, and in time it turned out that nature didn't care about human standards of right and wrong, that nature was unpredictable and complicated. Aziraphale was forbidden from searching, researching and discovering. His parents grew more and more rigid, unaccepting, fanatic, so Aziraphale visited rarely and wanted to find someone who would accept him as he was, kind and thoughtful, questioning. 

The forest around him became darker, became playful and mischievous, and Aziraphale was too tired and thirsty to think clearly. 

There was a tall lanky figure somewhere in front of him, someone golden and red, someone even more otherworldly for how natural they seemed in the forest, and Aziraphale waved at the figure. The figure waved back, somewhat puzzled, and approached him. 

No human would walk like this, making no sound, being both too graceful and too clumsy to pass off as human… The figure stopped a few steps away from Aziraphale, suddenly becoming much, much taller.

It was a man, a very peculiar, very thin, very handsome man, but still a man. He wore a green parka, skinny black jeans and solid black boots; he had red hair and wore sunglasses; he shook his head disapprovingly. Aziraphale felt water on his lips and a strong arm under his shoulders. The man above him said something but it came out as some strange noises that resembled nothing Aziraphale had ever heard.

The figure seemed to be even more disappointed. He pulled out a notebook and scribbled something there, then held it out to Aziraphale's face.

_Deaf. Crowley. Don't talk like you. You're lost. Drink some more water from my flask, rest and then I'll take you to a bus stop. Do you have money for the ticket?_

Aziraphale shook his head. Crowley's flask was by his dry and cracked lips. He blindly grabbed at the pencil in Crowley's hand and the man gave it up easily in silent understanding.

_Nice to meet you, dear boy. My name is Aziraphale, and I am indeed lost. Thank you for your help. So nice of you._

Crowley rolled his eyes. He put the notebook and the pencil back into his pockets and helped Aziraphale to his feet. Together they walked to an old jeep, and once Aziraphale was inside, safe and sound, with the seatbelt buckled, he saw the notebook again, on his lap.

_I only drive within the forest. I'll take you to a friend, and she'll check you out and will help you get on the bus or drive you to the station or whatever it is you need really._

The car moved. Crowley drove too fast, too careless for Aziraphale's liking, but in the end he was greeted by a young woman with dark hair and huge glasses. She Signed to Crowley, and Crowley Signed back, exasperated but accepting. The woman nodded. 

***

Aziraphale came to in a cozy room with lots of books and a fire.

"So, hello! My name is Ana, I'm a forester here. The man you met is Crowley, he's our boss. He told me he had tried to talk to you, so consider it an honour: he never speaks to anyone, I mean he never voices to anyone. We learned BSL as we got to know him."

Aziraphale was offered a light meal and a cup of very sweet tea, then Ana 

drove him to a bus stop and paid for his ticket.

***

"What was that?" Ana Signed, as she walked into Crowley's cabin, quite uninvited.

"You've no idea what you said," Crowley teased her in Sign. 

"Well, perhaps, but it's the first time you rescued someone," Ana Signed. _Rescued_ was fingerspelled too.

"Well, it's the first time I found someone lost, so…" Crowley Signed and sighed. "He wasn't… ready for a forest trip, you know? You think he'd get home alright on his own?"

"I'm such a good friend, Crowley, I took his number."

"How is his number connected to you being a good friend?" Crowley frowned.

"First you can check on him, second you can ask him out, live a little, _majesty._ " Ana smirked, fingerspelling _majesty_ torturously slowly.

"Oi, no, not again with your _majesty_ thing, oh please…" 

"You know what we call you…"

"Stop!"

"We call you Erlkönig, so majesty you are." Anathema looked at her fingers. Sometimes she found fingerspelling exhausting. The old forester by the name of Shadwell, who had always refused all promotions out of his rather peculiar reasons (he became forester to track down and find witches), knew Sign better than everyone, probably out of some begrudging respect for Crowley, to which Shadwell would never admit - Crowley was a _fancy lad_ , with PhD, scientific reputation and in a mother who taught in Oxford and had a reputation of a wicked number theorist and absolute darling of the Oxfordshire Deaf community. 

***

_Hello. Crowley. Wanted to check if you're alright. Want to know what had happened._

Aziraphale blinked at his phone. 

Gabriel proved to be right, the experience _was_ transformative, but not in a way Gabriel would approve of. After some soul-searching Aziraphale came to a conclusion that he didn't need such friends, had no energy for such friends, had an entirely different sense of humour. Looking out of the window of his room, looking at the grey clouds and wet roads and buildings, Aziraphale had an epiphany one would like to have at least once in their life - he didn't have to conform and he rather liked himself as he was. Yes, it was unpleasant hearing stupid jokes from Gabriel and his company when they saw Aziraphale enjoying a piece of cake, but Aziraphale couldn't care less, to his own surprise. 

He wrote to his family telling them he was gay and didn't intend to come back. They politely disowned and condemned him. Aziraphale, to his astonishment, felt relieved. 

And after a week of such radical changes in his life, Aziraphale received a message from Crowley. 

Aziraphale hadn't thought much about him, but now, reading the message again and again, he came to think that the silence and careful sounds of the forest, the magnificent sunset and dehydration didn't add up to the strange quality of that experience until Crowley came by. 

In every culture there's a ritual of initiation. Gabriel's ritual was just cruel and rather stupid, and didn't take it into account that once initiated, once hatched, a person could reveal themselves as someone completely different. Someone strange. 

Countless stories about strange, liminal journeys tell exactly that. Was Alice ever the same after her adventures, or would she sometimes stop in her tracks and remember that journey, gradually fading from her memory, as the most important time of her life? Was Dorothy ever the same? Was Chihiro? The answer is of course no, no one can be the same having experienced something that made one realise how big and complex the world was. 

People who had to admit that not only the world was round, but there also existed unimaginable places and creatures and cultures, those people would feel that grounding insecurity about the meaning and influence of their surroundings, unless they opted for pretending that the world was flat and all things unusual had to be wiped out of existence.

From this insecurity, or rather uncertainty, comes the feeling expressed beautifully in the Baroque literature and perhaps most precisely in Calderon's "Life is a dream", but this is an entirely different conversation, Aziraphale reminded himself.

One doesn't seek the company of Charon. One doesn't remember the Coachman from _Pinocchio_ with fondness. Perhaps Alice sometimes wishes for the uncommon wisdom of the Cheshire cat, but in the end she's much better off without him. There are however people, those rare souls, who tend to dream and think too much, who get lost in a book easily, who quite often find it difficult to tell the difference between dreams and what is conventionally called reality, and those people, they think of those sometimes absolutely wicked guides in the worlds beyond, because however helpful the Caterpillar is, he gives answers, while the guides demand them and so retain within themselves the ultimate mystery. What unknown depths are hidden under the Mad Hatter's hat? What is that system, so different from what we are used to seeing that we call it madness? No one misses one's tormentors (Pinocchio for sure didn't miss the Coachman), but there are those who miss the people or creatures in their lives that made them question the very nature of the world and its ways. Mephistopheles comes to mind. 

Of course none of this applies to the tormentors and abusers of the real world. These are not complicated, have no spiritual depth, their cruelty is very down-to-earth. But the reason Dr Lecter is so popular is precisely because he's Starling's guide in some of the darkest places ever, and she misses his guidance precisely because of that role. Besides, he's fictional.

Reading a book, some people tend to have that liminal experience, that rite of passage, and say in _Faust,_ I would pick Mephistopheles over Faust any day. Speaking of Goethe, Aziraphale felt he had met the Erlkönig, but not Goethe's, not the one who steals children, but the one who's fiercely protective of his kingdom. Note that the father in Goethe's poem doesn't see him, only his son does, and he dies because he can _see_ that creature with a mane and a tail. The Erlkönig is so persistent about keeping the child with him because the child _sees_ him, because the child in the end belongs in a forest with magic and legends and mysteries.

What if the faces we see in the pattern of the wallpapers are real? What if these faces beckon us because we can see them? How come these faces are so real to people who see them?

_I'm quite alright, dear boy. How about you?_

Aziraphale took a deep breath and was ready to accept he'd never be answered but his phone vibrated but a minute later.

_Good. Glad to hear it. Alright too._

And another moment later:

_I want to say something else but I don't know what._

Aziraphale was smiling before he realised it. He googled Crowley. 

***

Anthony J. Crowley, PhD, was a scientist. Being Deaf and autistic, he resigned himself to being a scientist par excellence. His wit and intelligence helped him get any grant he set his eyes on, but then the government made a huge decision to restore the Forest of Arden to its former glory, and some mean person recommended Dr Crowley with the purpose of letting the _dear Dr Crowley_ fail. Dr Crowley fucking restored the Forest of Arden, turned it into a successful business venture _and_ paid for his coworkers' courses in Sign. Those who wanted to leave, left, and missed out on raised salaries, booming tourism, unique scientific opportunities and the sight of Nature reclaiming what had always been hers anyway.

Dr Crowley cured the soil and brought back the fungi. Soon after, the insects returned and with them, the birds. The rabbits and the deer followed and brought back the foxes and the wolves. Where just a few historically important trees used to stand, there was now a proper forest, one to get lost in, one where the diversity and community of a natural forest could be found. Nothing would touch a tree in the Forest of Arden, unless it was a clever parasite. 

Dr Crowley opened the tourist centre and allowed camping. One violation of his rules was enough to be banned from the grounds for life. He hired the best foresters and trained his guides. He made the forest accessible to wheelchair users. It took Dr Crowley only fifteen years to turn something obsolete into a sanctuary of the all-devouring nature, reclaiming her territory once again. He, through Shadwell, convinced everyone who needed convincing, that a few villages and a small town were nothing compared to the glory of a real forest, or more importantly, of a thriving business. 

Dr Crowley himself resided in a cabin in the heart of the Forest of Arden, surrounded by his books and his music, with state-of-the-art equipment that let Dr Crowley experience the music of his childhood hero, one Ludwig van Beethoven, through the vibrations alone. In his interviews, Dr Crowley said that he hated the frantic quality of live performances, since he himself only needed to put his head to a speaker and feel the glory of Beethoven and be perfectly capable of telling Beethoven from Chopin whom he didn't like, and enjoy Schubert whom he adored.

Dr Crowley openly admitted that he was autistic and couldn't really enjoy the company of others, even though his mother was an important part of the local Deaf community. He said he opted for abandoning his attempts to speak, because it took too much of his energy. He didn’t lipread, and even said he wouldn't notice the movement of someone's lips unless those lips were close enough for him to feel the vibration of the air. He was openly gay, admitted to having dated and enjoyed the intimacy of a few Deaf lovers, but that his autism proved to be too difficult for his partners, though they were nothing but respectful and kind. He prided himself on the quality of signs in the forest that had been designed to avoid any lost visitors. 

Aziraphale found a blog of one Ana Device, who kept referring to Dr Crowley as _Erlkönig_. 

By Aziraphale’s reckoning, Dr Crowley must have been in his late thirties, while Aziraphale himself was only in his mid-twenties. 

***

_I read about you online, dear boy. What an impressive resume you have!_

**_Oh, oh, no, no, no, no, it's all lies._ **

After that message there came no replies to Aziraphale's messages. 


	2. Chapter 2

The most important quality of any tempter is the ability to instill curiosity in an object. Crowley had no intention of tempting anyone, but his peculiar, to say the least, reaction to Aziraphale's sly observation instilled curiosity that was like an itch - very nice to scratch, but only makes it worse. Aziraphale needed some good ointment, and he decided that Crowley was such. 

Aziraphale planned his visit well, admired and appreciated all the discounts he'd get as a student and considered whether it would be terrible or understandable if he reached out to Ana and asked her about Crowley. Oh, but whyever not? She blogged about her job, mentioned Crowley a lot, so it would be nothing special, really. And so he reached out to her. 

_Dear girl, how are you? Was so glad to find your blog and enjoy reading it immensely. May I ask you something about Crowley?_

Aziraphale waited for the response, humming and shaking, a bit.

_Hey, Aziraphale. Crowley had a fucking meltdown over you. You insinuated he was a good person. A classic rookie mistake. But you like him, you'll get there._

Aziraphale choked on his lovely tea. His eternally active mind fell down the rabbit hole of different scenarios and implications. He couldn't say he _liked_ Crowley, but he _was_ enchanted with Crowley, couldn't stop thinking of that glimpse of something strange and beautiful he had caught when he was with Crowley. Aziraphale remembered as well, how Crowley grew taller and taller as he approached Aziraphale…

Sometimes Aziraphale would be sassy and now was the moment he had to summon all his sassiness for what he wanted to reply.

_Oh, but does he like me?_

Ana replied far too quickly.

_Told you, he had a meltdown over you. You managed to be someone so… special, that you failed to use his signs, and they are his pride and joy._

Aziraphale hummed. Something was bubbling within him, as if he unknowingly had always been a fish and now had discovered water… As if he unknowingly had been a tree and found a forest and the king. Perhaps it was too romantic, too far-fetched, but that was how Aziraphale felt, and really there was no harm in it.

***

Crowley was pacing in his cabin. 

It wasn't exactly a cabin, of course, it was a neat little house, covered from the roof to the ground with ivy _(hedera helix, or English ivy)_. Only windows could be seen from the outside, and the front door… well, Crowley knew where it was, and so did Ana. Crowley loved to think his door traveled around the place freely. He loved to think his house had whims and fancies. 

Inside it was quiet and safe. Solid wood of the furniture, heavy and soft fabrics, wooden or silicone kitchen utensils, very little metal, unless absolutely necessary and then it was cast iron, heavy and reliable. Cast iron didn't even feel that metallic to Crowley. 

The rooms tended to be either comfortably dark or just the right amount of light to know if it was sunny or cloudy outside. The terrace, covered in ivy like the rest of the house, was but another room, cooler or warmer than the rest depending on the season. 

"I am a weird, weird, weird snake," thought Crowley. "I'm a very, very, very weird snake. I'm not even human… not entirely. Trees, they are my humans, and animals. Something that is honest and doesn't need to vouchsafe for its honesty. Something that is eternally complex but still has clear laws…"

He messed his hair, he rubbed a curtain, he looked outside. It was early morning, the fog lay low, such precious and confusing white, just like that boy… man… thing. Best thing. _Wandering thing. Lost, thirsty, golden white, and warmly bright in the evening sun, gently pink, fiercely blue, the smile of many colours, the confusion that didn't suit him, no, not at all. Such a wandering thing should never be lost, should never be dropped in the middle of my forest. His face, his face, like mine when I'm at a party, but all the same wonder and all the same wander. As if looking for his people. Are you looking for your people? Can I be your people? Now stop, stop, stop… and he did stop, because he fell… bastards, fucking bastards._

"Are you looking for your people?" Crowley Signed into the mirror, purposefully slow. "Can I be your people?"

He stood there for a while looking at his reflection and breathing hard.

"Blond hair," he Signed. "Blue eyes. You smell really, really good. Could I be your people?" 

He took his sunglasses off and looked at his yellow eyes with bilateral coloboma splitting the irises. He started pacing again, from one room to another and back again and out on the terrace. 

_When you put your head into the grass, when you press your head to a tree after the first rain, the vibrations of water inside the trunk, pump-pump-pump-pump. A living thing and a living heart. They communicate through their roots and through mycelium, there's a talk there, and if you were my people, we'd go out together and see our folk dancing and celebrating, but never loud, never frantic. Lights on strings and strings of lights, our people celebrating the first rain and the new harvest, the new season or the darkness. So much life and so much movement… eyes do more than see, ears do more than hear, we're all vibrations, pump-pump-pump-pump, new blood and young love…_

_So many trees on one square metre, that's how you make a forest GROW BETTER, let it claim each settlement, turn it into forest's gain, one by one, before you can't see the sun from where you stand…_

_Give me warmth without brightness, give me brightness that is yours, down under, far from thunder, closer to precious clear raindrops._

_Had I built myself a golem, I'd take raindrops for his eyes, I'd take roots for limbs, and trunks, for a solid, sturdy torso…_

_My thoughts rhyme, I can keep singing in the language of the trees. Time is slow down on one's knees with one's head pressed into weeds… time is slow, and if forever you stay listening to this song, it will barely take off when you're old and young and living…_

_This is silly, this is stupid. I should stop, I should be working, I should cease this silly walking, I should listen to my kin._

_But my kin is stubborn, hard. Send the roots down to my heart, pump-pump-pump, young blood, new love._

_This is how you make things grow, this is how the sun goes low, this is how…_

Crowley passed out.

When he came to, Ana was crouching next to him.

"You're a Victorian maiden, boss. Passing out because in love," she Signed.

"Not in love," Crowley replied. "Never. You're a menace, Ana. What's new?"

"Nothing. Things go well, all's good."

"So it's one of those days I feel unnecessary?"

"Aren't most days? That's why you're necessary."

"Why, thank you." Crowley stood up and stretched. "Haven't fainted in a while. Or thought in verse."

"Wow. You have it bad!" Ana walked to the kitchen to make them both tea. "He wrote to me, you know. Said you fucked off the moment he mentioned your achievements."

Crowley rolled his eyes.

"Don't you roll your eyes at me, majesty. I take it he wants to come visit."

"Hope he won't get lost again." Crowley looked far too exasperated to mean what he said.

"You're a terrible liar. Someone as good-looking as you should be more clever." Ana Signed to the kettle, then remembered herself and turned to Crowley to repeat everything. 

"You Sign terribly."

"It's because there's so much mischief and infatuation in the air."

"I hate you. Shut up. I don't fall in love, ok? I'm not in love."

"Pity I can see your aura." 

Crowley let out a moan of frustration.

"Says the man who hugs trees."

"Ana, I'm serious, please, stop."

Ana frowned. "Did I offend you?"

"Don't want to talk now. Thanks for the tea."

"I'm sorry. I guess I'm just an old matchmaker deep down."

Crowley nodded and gulped a cup of searing hot tea without so much as a wince.

***

Aziraphale allowed that strange, otherworldly pull to have the best of him, and he wanted, _oh he wanted,_ to experience that again, that creature-day, that _ineffable_ something he had experienced when he saw Crowley. Maybe it was foolish. Maybe it was thirst and fatigue that made him feel that way, but it was still there, that small but strong root slowly growing around his heart and rising as breath up his throat. 

He wished he'd been where he wanted to be right that moment, no flying landscapes past the train window, no anything, just that rite of passage all over again, just the air and light and someone, _something_ getting taller and leaner and more beautiful with each step.

Aziraphale left the path quite soon, and as soon as he was far enough from the road, he pulled out a red thread from his pocket. It was good quality wool, solid but soft. Aziraphale tied it around a tree and every ten metres or so tied it to another. One didn't study Classics to never use it, despite what most people would say. Ariadne was an intelligent woman, and Aziraphale would hate to fail to use her intelligence.

The red ran out, and the yellow began. Aziraphale barely had enough focus to keep tying his thread to a tree every now and then. He was overwhelmed with the living, intense silence of the forest, that wasn't really that silent, but was still far quieter than every other place he had been to. He wasn't lost this time, and had water and food with him, and his phone, too, but he was forgetting about those, as the green gold of the daylight danced between the trees, as the insects buzzed and fallen leaves crunched under his feet. 

The yellow ran out too, and it was getting dark, the air turned pink and the pink was turning into purple. 

Aziraphale pulled out the black thread. There were steps similar to his behind him. 

"Crowley," he sighed out and beamed and turned to meet his… guide. Crowley was leaning on a tree and held in his hands red and yellow threads. He stretched out his arms and nodded at the wool. 

Aziraphale came closer and took it. Crowley began writing in his notebook and handed it over to Aziraphale.

_Worked for Beethoven, will work for us, too. A deer can get caught and stuck in your threads. You shouldn't leave the path unless you are sure. And it's getting dark. How can I help? What have you been looking for? Are you alright? Do you have water?_

To save some time Aziraphale showed Crowley his water bottle. 

_I'm quite alright. I'm sorry I didn't think about the deers. Would they even come that close to me?_

He handed the notebook back to Crowley who read what Aziraphale had written and chuckled. 

_You look like an angel, of course every fucking living thing would want to come closer. You meant to take it off on your way back, didn't you?_

_But of course, dear!_

_Good. Do you need any help, angel?_

_Now I do. You destroyed my means of finding my way back to the path._

_Want to have a cup of tea at mine?_

Crowley was blushing when he returned the notebook to Aziraphale.

_I wouldn't want to impose._

_Ok. Shall I take you to the path then?_

Aziraphale nodded and they walked together in a slightly different direction to what Aziraphale had expected. 

Crowley stopped by one tree and began Signing angrily at it. Aziraphale knew it was peculiar, to say the least, but he was mostly lost to the clumsy grace of Crowley's movements. 

That wouldn't do, Aziraphale thought, that wouldn't do at all. Need to learn how to speak Sign. Need to. _I'd learn to row from Charon, I'd learn to smile from the Cheshire cat, I'd be good for your world. I will… Will._

Crowley touched Aziraphale's elbow and pointed at the tree. He began to Sign, but stopped abruptly and took out the notebook again.

_This tree is rebellious. Like, when a tree growing off a cliff develops a structure like this, the main branch so much to the side, it's understandable - it's trying to balance itself, but this stubborn idiot? He was just trying to escape the overbearing protection of an older tree, and now he will never see the sun, stupid bastard!_

Aziraphale looked at the tree. He the tree did go to the side quite a lot. 

_Are there crutches for trees, my dear?_

_Yes, sure. But it could have just waited. I'm very angry with this fucker. I am. Why did you come? Thought you'd want to never see this place._

_The place is lovely, my dear. No silly bully will take that away from me._

(And also, he was really happy to see Crowley who was everything Aziraphale hoped to see again, the same otherworldly demeanour, the same red of his hair, the dark of his figure, the orange beige of his freckles. Freckles were the sun kisses. Aziraphale envied the sun.)

Crowley moved to walk once again, and Aziraphale tried to keep up. They ended up by the tourist centre. Crowley pulled Aziraphale by the elbow inside the gift shop. The cashier and the shop assistant straightened up, but Crowley ignored them to grab a card depicting an old oak called _The devil's tree_ , one of the oldest trees in the Forest of Arden.

He leaned on the counter and sucked on his pencil. After several moments of the cashier's shooing away the customers and explaining that it was _Dr Crowley himself,_ Crowley brightened and scribbled something. He nodded at the cashier, they Signed back and Crowley gave the card to Aziraphale.

_Thank you for coming back. Come back._

When Aziraphale looked up from the card, Crowley was gone.

***

"It was stupid or smooth?" Crowley Signed from the floor. Ana sighed and took a sip of her wine.

"Wasn't either. Was just… you know. Sweet. For someone who knows you." She replied. "On the other hand, you stopped talking to him because he called you out on being brilliant…"

"Don't want him to think so well of me. If he gets to know me…"

"Then it's even more important to charm him first."

"How do you charm?" Crowley rolled over to his stomach.

"Flowers? Chocolates? Romantic gestures? Speaking Ancient Greek but Sign."

"I could do the last one. And the second."

"See, you've got it."

"I don't."

***

Aziraphale traced the outline of the devil's tree with his fingers. His room was dark and relatively quiet, what with his flatmates and some partying students outside. 

He would come back. He would come back most definitely. He'd come back for his king. He'd come back to weave flower crowns for Crowley and put them on Crowley's red hair. He'd come back to find Crowley again. He'd get in trouble for Crowley to find him.

In the morning Aziraphale signed up for a course in Sign, and then for a course for Sign interpreters. It wasn't even open for sign ups yet, but Aziraphale needed a beacon to work towards, so he considered he'd work hard enough to do the course next year. He spoke three dead languages and five modern ones, after all.


	3. Chapter 3

Crowley was watching the original _Star Trek_ series, or rather he had been before he paused it to talk to Spock. 

_It's highly illogical to keep thinking of someone I had seen twice and haven't seen for a week. I know, you're going to ask whether I tried to initiate contact. I don't know if I should. I have no idea what's appropriate. I didn't care about it with anyone. You know what, fuck off!_

Crowley turned off the TV and instead put the music on. Beethoven. Seventh. Allegretto. Banal but effective.

He put his head to the speaker and felt the gradually rising vibrations of the music. It was better than all the sex he had had, better than any touch, and his traitor of mind supplied him with an image of Aziraphale. 

_Ludwig, I'm considering texting him._

_What's texting, Anthony?_

_It's like letters but quicker._

_Wicked. What do you want to tell him?_

_That's the problem, Ludwig. I have no idea. Your temper and seduction techniques won't be helpful._

_Then why are you talking to me?_

_You're right, I shouldn't._

Beethoven was banished too.

_Hey, angel, what's up?_

Crowley hopped around the house cursing himself for everything he had ever done.

_I'm alright, my dear. It's all quite fine indeed. You?_

_Same old. Same old._

"Now what?" Crowley Signed. "What am I supposed to do or say? I could be honest, I guess."

_Don't know what to say but want to talk to you._

Crowley looked at his phone intently.

_What makes you happy, dear boy? Your favourite books?_

Crowley could feel what the next question was going to be, so he answered it instead of the one Aziraphale sent.

_I love music. Beethoven. Schubert. All of the Bachs. I feel the vibrations. It's wonderful. Mozart. As for books, I like the books about trees and plants, the scientific sort. I read the things one should read, but give me a tree book any day._

He rubbed his eyes, he took a shower, so hot that the steam was crawling out of the bathroom as Crowley was doing the same; he got dressed for bed. He lay down, he stood up. He remembered he had forgotten something, so he returned to bed, turned the lights off (the comfort of the darkness when all around the house stood the dark forest!) and grabbed his phone.

_I study Classics in Cambridge. Got myself a scholarship and am very unbecomingly proud of myself. I like your choice of music and could use some book recommendations, dear boy._

Crowley smiled, staring into the phone until his eyes closed as he fell asleep without noticing. 

***

Somewhere in Cambridge Aziraphale sighed and stopped waiting for Crowley to reply. It was rather late after all, but Aziraphale could never enjoy sleeping, when there were so many things to learn and so many books to read. 

He'd been drifting away from his usual books lately, Classics being replaced with Sign language, experiences of the Deaf people and now, forestry. 

Aziraphale tended to obsess over things, but learning Sign meant being able to talk to Crowley without the need to write everything and fuck Beethoven. Not everything that worked for Beethoven worked for everyone, and Aziraphale didn't even like Beethoven that much. He preferred Vivaldi to anyone any time. 

Humming, Aziraphale texted Crowley.

_Do you like Vivaldi, dear boy?_

Then he returned to his studies. There was a mirror in front of him and he fingerspelled, blushing:

"I think I fancy you, my dear. How about that tea back at yours?"

It felt comfortable to say things like that in Sign. The vibrations of Aziraphale's vocal cords when he opened his heart to someone usually made his throat sore.

***

Aziraphale's Sign teacher was a speaking Deaf person. They took shit from no one. Their name was Bea. They didn't like Aziraphale one bit, and Aziraphale wasn't used to it. Usually his teachers adored him. Bea's Deaf accent made the way they talked even more awe-inspiring. They'd talk to Aziraphale with a look of profound displeasure. 

Despite his daily practice, endless videos and rather romantic reasons for learning Sign (Crowley didn't reply, and Aziraphale missed him), the young man relied too much on fingerspelling, used more advanced Signs inappropriately and suddenly completely forgot about that little thing that makes one fluent, called idioms. 

After a few weeks (Crowley still refused to reply, dear boy) Bea told Aziraphale to stay after class. 

They sat in front of him and Signed. 

"You're saying… Sign is not _fucking flamenco_?" Aziraphale frowned in confusion.

Bea smirked, then grinned and Signed again.

"I'm… moving my hands too much? _I'm Signing as if I were suggesting fingering_?" Aziraphale blushed crimson, while Bea laughed so hard they began to cry.

"You understand better than you talk," Bea continued in Sign once they calmed down. "You think you're better than everyone, well let me tell you, you're good, but do stop being so smug. Now, tell me, what's his name?"

"Is it… that obvious?" Aziraphale Signed slowly.

"You have no idea what you said." Bea rolled their eyes. "But yes, you are. Also, you know, the fingering. Or flamenco. I figured it was fingering."

Aziraphale had been waiting for Crowley's reply forever, and Bea wasn't helping.

"Dr Crowley."

"Oh, the flash bastard. Good luck. He dated a friend of mine. Was great, the fingering and shit, but… the man is too challenging for a neurotypical person. He's kind of famous in the community. And his hearing mom is a fucking menace. Know that story about Euler and Diderot?"

Aziraphale had to admit that for once he didn't know something. 

"Well, Euler _proved_ the existence of Gd to Diderot. He didn't prove shit, but present a writer with a formula, and they will lose their mind. Same with Ela Crowley. She's a celebrated number theorist, aroace, and very friendly unless you piss her off. Don't piss her off."

Aziraphale was nodding, getting to understand Bea's Signing far slower than he would have expected. 

"Anyway. Stop reading forward and practice what we learn. I'll teach you individually after our classes, ok? I just like seeing a hearing person smitten with a Deaf one enough to go through the trouble of learning Sign."

***

Aziraphale was exhausted. He put the mirror down and shove his Classics book to the floor. Nothing felt right anymore, nothing but that golden glow of Crowley as they walked together. 

Aziraphale had no family to fall to, he had no friends and he had come to find his studies unpleasant. His passion was the learning, the acquiring of information and knowledge, not sharing it, not trying to expand it. He didn't consider himself good enough for discoveries and new perspectives. He wanted to learn and he needed a job. 

The mirror was returned to its place and Aziraphale looked into it. 

"In two years," he Signed slowly, "in one, if I'm lucky, I'm going to leave it all behind and find me a place that would fill me with…" He was too worked-up to Sign, so he spoke at his reflection. "Somewhere where I'd feel the way Crowley made me feel every day. I will find myself a place. Doesn't have to be here. Doesn't have to be respectable. No one is left to appease," and he smiled wickedly, a man at peace with himself. 

His phone buzzed.

_I'm autistic, I don't know how all this works. In the past people got uncomfortable with me because I talked about fungi during sex which is bloody awkward when you're Deaf. I think you're flirting with me. Vivaldi is so much older than Beethoven and I'm older than you. I guess you know it by now. I love Vivaldi, of course. I don't know what to do. I like you, and I'm scared of disappointing you. I don't know how I can like you so much after seeing you twice, and I counted. What can I do? What do you want me to do? Anything you want, anywhere you want to go._

Aziraphale panicked. He had dreamed of Crowley replying to him, but he didn't expect to be called out so. He wanted Crowley to like him, but he wanted it gradual and flirtatious. He wanted Crowley to want him, but more discreetly. He was used to being discreet in his attractions. All of his fears were in this admittedly long message. 

So Aziraphale went to bed after telling Crowley that he was going too fast.

Somewhere in the Forest of Arden a small house shook as the man inside tore at his hair and wondered _whatever the fuck was that_?

***

The same man texted his employee/colleague/friend/courtier. The hour was late but Crowley had an emergency. He sent Ana all the texts he had received from Aziraphale and added from himself:

_WHAT THE EVERLOVING FUCK IS THAT???_

He breathed heavily and was apparently sobbing, which was a) unbecoming, b) embarrassing, c) completely and utterly curious because after all he had seen Aziraphale twice (he counted again), and yes, their meetings were… well… ehm… special, but no way Dr Crowley would lose it over someone in general and Aziraphale in particular. 

Crowley opened the window and yelled to the trees:

"Too fucking fast! Can you imagine?"

Now, to the trees the fact that Crowley was rather too fast was obvious. No tree would ever move so much and have so many unreasonably placed branches. No tree would be so short after 38 years of life, though, which was interesting, but maybe Crowley was a bush… That explained frantic branches, by the way. But then again, he had no leaves. Or needles. Or anything. And moved like something trees in this climate had never seen, but something frankly indecent. Oh, they loved him all the same.

_Crowley, do you know what time it is?_

Crowley looked at the time.

_Yes, why?_

_See, most people are sleeping, or shagging, or suffering from insomnia. Are you suffering from insomnia?_

_I'm not. I'm enjoying it. I'm gonna combust. I need to run this by you._

_Can you run this by me in a few hours when it's morning?_

_No. Have I mentioned combustion?_

_I believe so. What do you want, majesty?_

_Did you read what I sent you?_

_I did. In all honesty, I don't know what I would have answered to your message._

_You'd have told me what you want._

_Crowley, you replied to him after weeks of radio silence, so I can't blame him for being confused._

_What's so confusing? I didn't know what to do. Isn't it obvious?_

_To me, it is, because you've been pining for weeks. To him… not so much, I guess._

_What should I do now? Flowers, chocolates? Also, I don't pine._

_Of course, majesty, whatever you say._

_So what? Details, Device! Flowers? Chocolates? How do you woo an NT?_

_Oh but, majesty, he's not NT. Not in the least._

_Alright. You read his aura. Does he like me?_

_I'm not answering that! There's some ethics involved._

_You have no ethics where I'm concerned._

_But you're a friend, majesty. And my king. Aziraphale is neither._

_Ok, I'm sorry I asked. Sorry I bothered. I don't know what to do._

***

Time went on, Aziraphale got better in Sign and was in danger of losing his scholarship. Somehow it didn't matter anymore. He'd come to discover he couldn't care less. He'd come to discover he could get financial support, being a queer man disowned by his family and the one willing to be involved in the Deaf community. 

Ironically, or just according to some old Greek prophecy, he was recommended to talk to Dr Crowley. 

"He'd find you a job," they said. "He'd help you. He made it big and he's not arrogant, so he's your best chance to get a job that would accommodate your interests and intentions."

Aziraphale looked at his phone. Crowley hadn't texted since Aziraphale told him he was too fast for him.

***

_Darling boy, I'm afraid I've made a mess of things. Ever since I've met you, I wanted to get closer to you, and I didn't know then and still don't know how to do it. I'm just as lost as you are. I abandoned my studies and lost my scholarship (good riddance), and I began learning Sign after our second meeting (I counted too). There are some wonderfully kind people in the LGBTQA and Deaf communities that agreed to help me financially. My family disowned me after I came out, you see. I came out having met you. Remember how Pinocchio wanted to become a real, human boy? That's what I want. I was wooden and strange before we met, but you're the most human… well, human I've ever met. I think of you all the time. You're my fairy with the turquoise hair. You're my Coachman too. I'm both afraid of and attracted to you. We've met twice, we've seen each other like no one else would have, or at least I like to think so. I want to get a BATOD, I want to be a part of your people, darling boy, and if we ever meet during a festival, it's you I want to dance with. I want to work with you. I want to be close to you. I can't promise we'll end up as a couple, but you changed me, Crowley, you did, your majesty. If there had been a deity sitting by your door and demanding a sacrifice, I'd give up my hearing for you. I'd give up all the privilege I, a white abled man, might have to come to live by your side. I can't put it to words properly, I can't explain it, but it feels right, and I trust this feeling. I do. I was recommended to reach out to you to get a job, but I'd understand if you refuse me. We have been idiots, both of us, but I doubt I can betray you. I wish I could swear it, but I'm imperfect. So let me be a courtier of yours, let me be a tree in your forest, let me be a part of your people. Judge me as you want, think of me as you find appropriate, but know that you changed me and steered me home._

***

It took Crowley two weeks to answer.

_There's no sacrifice I'm ready to accept. Come and work with me and be a part of my people. I'm not about being less than you are. Just different. You're welcome to come and join. You're welcome everywhere I can welcome you. Come to me. Be my people. I only ever wanted this._


	4. Chapter 4

As it should have been, Aziraphale's way to the Arden was nothing short of magical. Whatever acquaintances he still had in Cambridge, apart from the people who had been helping him, seemed dumbfounded. His mother came by to try and talk some fear of Jesus into him. He hugged her and cried a bit, and it hurt, until he remembered where he was headed, then all was right as rain again. Aziraphale felt so lucky to have been able to let go, and it only took two (2) encounters with Crowley. Aziraphale both feared and anticipated what more meetings might bring.

Looking at his reflection in the train window, Aziraphale questioned whether he'd be able to recognise himself in a few months or even days. 

Despite what his history might have suggested, Aziraphale rather liked himself. He saw all too well that he was pretty much alone in this opinion, or more accurately, this insecurity was - fortunately - the only inheritance he had received or would ever receive from his family. He had sought prestige, that's why he had been adamant about getting into Cambridge in the first place, but like many people before him, he understood quickly (he  _ was  _ a smart man) that it wouldn't mean a thing. He had never considered his happiness, until he was given a drink of cold water in an enchanted forest. Of course, he was bound to come back since that sip.

The thought brought a giddy smile to his face. 

Aziraphale's phone buzzed. 

_ We're waiting for you, today or tomorrow, your pick. If the accommodation you have found is shit, you can stay at my place, if you like. We'll figure something out as we go. Crowley. _

Aziraphale took a deep breath but his phone buzzed again in the middle of it.

_ Wahoo, you're coming! Majesty is so flustered! Keep up the good work! Ana. _

He sent them both the same text asking why they decided to sign off their messages.

_ I'm a tree,  _ Crowley replied. It made sense, Aziraphale decided. 

_ I'm a tree too. He's sitting right here being flustered. Have we mentioned we're picking you up? Bea had leaked us EVERYTHING.  _ Ana's reply made even more sense.

***

"What the fuck are you playing at? I won't be matchmade! I won't!" Crowley Signed furiously.

"I didn't get half of it," Ana Signed back. "I'm getting you your forest prince, majesty. Your kingdom needs more love."

Crowley made many wild gestures that meant nothing but got translated by Ana as  _ yes, I'm in love and it's stupid, and you're stupid, I hate you all _ . Her translation was surprisingly accurate, considering the fact that Ana wasn't terribly fluent and casually perceived frantic gesticulation as Sign.

Aziraphale slid into the car without anyone noticing it, so both Ana and Crowley jumped up and looked at Aziraphale in shock. 

"You said you're picking me up," Aziraphale Signed perfectly (Bea's individual lessons were exhausting but effective).

"You Sign," Ana said and Crowley Signed. To avoid Crowley's stare of death, Ana started the car.

Aziraphale's chosen accommodation proved to be disastrous by both Crowley and Ana, and no matter how much Aziraphale argued, he wasn't good enough to argue in Sign, so at the sunset Ana dropped them off at Crowley's house. 

***

Crowley didn't say a thing, just made a welcoming gesture, which he then clarified as  _ go and discover _ . 

The clarified some more.

"Pick any room you want. Don't pick mine." With that Crowley walked to the kitchen and started aimlessly fiddling there, not preparing anything, not even considering it, lost to his thoughts and attuned to the way the house trembled under Aziraphale's steps - not that much vibration, but he could feel all the same. 

Crowley Signed to himself slowly. 

"What is it now? What do I do? Milk and tea don't have a certain number of dates before they mix, right? They are just like, whoops, guess we're together now and it's beautiful. Why can't people be like that? He's definitely my tea. Or milk. Whatever goes together well… Jam and butter. Ketchup and mayonnaise. Apple cake with sausage… Well, no one agrees with me on that. Green eggs and ham. So forth. Yes. No."

Aziraphale came into the kitchen and beamed at Crowley. Signing too fast for his own abilities, Aziraphale said:

"I do love apple cake and sausage! Can we have some? If you're being so generous and in the middle of the forest…"

Crowley grabbed Aziraphale's wrists and made a face an android might make while reloading. He nodded and let Aziraphale go. 

"You've made a few mistakes, but it's ok. I… do you think we go together well?"

"Only one way to find out." Aziraphale had a lovely suspicion where this was going but he didn't want to hope too much.

"I've been thinking… thinking… that milk and tea, they just mix, and… I've been thinking. Are you tea or milk?"

Aziraphale considered it for a moment and Signed that he was milk. 

"I'm not milk. I'm tea. Ehm… black. Or green. I'm milky oolong."

Aziraphale had read a lot, and yet he had never encountered such hopelessly ridiculous and utterly wonderful flirting technique. "Are you flirting with me?" He asked. 

"I'm… being a good cup of tea… am I your cup of tea? That's too suggestive…" 

His next Sign turned into an embrace, because Aziraphale kissed him. Crowley tasted like hot tea with milk, welcoming and warming, inviting, fitting. 

Aziraphale came out for air, and Crowley rather determinedly Signed  _ More _ . Aziraphale obliged, but Crowley interrupted the kiss to ask whether it was too fast. 

Aziraphale didn't mean to be a bastard, but he wanted to resume kissing Crowley and all the Signs left his overwhelmed brain, so he fingerspelled that  _ it really wasn't remotely fast enough _ , and Crowley patiently waited for this statement to end, then nodded and allowed Aziraphale to kiss him again. 

Walking on air, that's what it was and felt like, as two men swayed and rocked in the middle of the kitchen. Aziraphale realised Crowley was making the loveliest, cosiest noises - those of an old tree in the wind, a bit of screeching, a bit of rustling, a bit of gentle howling. Aziraphale broke the kiss to tell this to Crowley.

"You're… ok with it?" Crowley asked. 

"I'm so much more than ok with it." 

They kissed again. 

There was food to be made, there were places to be the next day, there was actually a whole damn world, but the echo of its existence appeared to Crowley quite unscientific. It was just the air trembling and lifting him and Aziraphale. It was just something in the back of one's mind that one is not particularly eager to remember. 

"I am rather hungry, dear boy," Aziraphale Signed. 

"Yes, angel," Crowley replied and moved to make something. He made lentil soup with lemon and parsley. He did have a lemon tree in his bedroom, and he did have parsley growing on the kitchen window sill.

"This is a Proust moment, dearest," Aziraphale said slowly.

"Its ingredients are simple, so it will be easy to recreate it."

"Why is it easier for me to talk to you?"

"Because Bea is being tough with you. I'm Signing slowly. For you."

"And I dared say you were too fast."

Crowley suddenly turned very serious, he even frowned.

"Ana will interview you. Would be inappropriate for me to do it… Will you stay?"

The Sign for  _ stay  _ was so grounding, so resolute. It left no doubt about Aziraphale having a place here, having a place among Crowley's people. He could  **_stay_ ** . The gesture of putting something into place, calmly and carefully. Like a flower into a pot, like a grown flower into a bigger pot. Like a promise, like a proposal.  **_Stay._ **

Aziraphale replied moving his hands farther forward from his shoulders to signify the future.  **_I'll stay._ **


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sorry, didn't deliver smut. The story steered me in a different direction. Thank you for your support and comments. Lots of love to you! May you all find your forest.

There's a house in the heart of the Forest of Arden. It's covered in ivy and neither windows nor doors can be seen. The house is warm in winter and cool in summer. The house is alive and has a spirit of an old, mischievous, caring friend. The house likes moving the rooms around. The house likes playing with its inhabitants, if they feel like it. The house never confuses or torments them. They call the house Adam. 

Two people, if they are still people, live there. One is lean and tall, has red hair and is Deaf. The trees know him and love him. The trees stand taller and grow faster for him. The fungi respect him. 

The other is shorter and younger, soft and round, kind and funny and sometimes fussy. The forest loves him because its king loves him. He had moved into the house one day and returned to the house every evening. 

He started off as a guide, and soon became the most popular guide in Arden. He talks beautifully, he's knowledgeable, he's not afraid of questions. After a few years he rose in position and began various educational and recreational programs for people with disabilities. He speaks BSL, ASL and FSL. He knows Braille. 

As the years went by, he stopped speaking English, stopped making any sounds other than an approving hum here and there, or a delighted moan when he enjoys his meal. He carries around a notebook, in case he has to talk to someone who doesn't know Sign. He's getting quieter and quieter with each year and he glows as if he had been feeding on the sunlight, flowing down the leaves right into his blue eyes when he sits under a tree with his love napping in his lap. 

They say these two have never spent a day apart, from the day the younger one moved into the house, a few hundred years ago. The king and his consort are rarely seen these days, but they still live in their small house in the heart of Arden. It's a good sign to see either of them, which is as rare as it's precious. 

They say the king and his consort have gradually grown into their happiness until there was nothing else they cared to pay attention to.

They say the king and his consort grew into their silence until the only sounds were those of their love and the sweet vibrations of Schubert.

They say the king is always young and his consort is always old, although nobody knows what it means. 

They say that anyone looking for a refuge will find one in the Forest of Arden and will be protected there for as long as they need. 

Time has transformed the name of the Forest, made it simpler and shorter, more familiar, and easier to say. The  _ r  _ went first, then  _ a  _ changed into  _ e,  _ but the Forest is just the same as it has always been - ever changing and bright and beautiful, a bit naughty, definitely majestic. 

There's a house and there's a king and there's his beloved.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for being here. Comments and kudos are the best.


End file.
